


My Bloody Valentine: A True Story

by xenobia4



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, M/M, Medical Torture, Object Insertion, Organ Theft, Torture, Video Cameras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-07-27 10:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16217573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenobia4/pseuds/xenobia4
Summary: During the week of Valentine's Day, the cast takes a break after filming the first half of Supernatural.Like every year, fan-letters come flooding in for the stars of the show. One in particular that was sent to Jensen gains attention when a video is included with a small box. A letter asks that the video be watched before the box is opened.The one filming says how their favourite movie is My Bloody Valentine and that they are a huge fan of Jensen. The break of relaxation quickly turns to a real-life horror film as the person shows Jared, locked and bound.





	1. Blood and Alcohol

**Author's Note:**

> Okay,  
> this story deals with blood, gore, torture and a lot of other elements. If you get squeamish easily, this won't be for you. 
> 
> Otherwise, please read and let me know what you think!!! (^ ^)

“I can’t believe you’re gonna bail on the cast party tonight. What could be so important?”

Jared shrugged and shoved his hands into his brown leather coat.

“I already told you. Gen’s going out of town for a few weeks to visit her sister, so I was gonna surprise her and see her off, since we’re not going to be together for Valentine’s Day.”

Jensen nodded with a pursed smile, jerking his shoulders to pull his own coat up higher on his shoulders as it had started to slide off. He shivered from the cold, but that did not stop him from slapping Jared hard on the back, actually making the other step forward.

“Always the gentleman.”

Jared turned his head to meet Jensen’s cocky smile with a sneer. “Bite me.”

“Where and how hard?”

Jared laughed awkwardly.

A yellow cab finally came up to the outside of the hotel, stopping in the designated zone in front of them. The cabbie did not even acknowledge them, other than with a glance to make sure there were actually people that were going to be using his taxi. After motioning to it, the cabbie popped the trunk and Jared lifted his bag to carry it over; Jensen took a smaller bag that Jared almost left behind. They placed the luggage in the trunk and Jensen shut the trunk door, releasing a breath; his breath came out in a string of white smoke as they walked back to the side of the cab.

Jensen opened the door to lean on it.

“Ah…can’t believe you’re gonna leave me alone on Valentine’s Day, Jare,” he said in a depressed tone, hanging and shaking his head solemnly. He pretended to sniff. “And all this time, I thought we had a special connection.”

Jared laughed and bit his tongue.

“Oh? And celebrate like last year? Where you just pelted me with Sweethearts? And, yeah. You’re gonna be alone…with fifty other people.” He set his hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “However will you manage?”

Jensen lifted his head with an inhale, staring upwards, looking pained. “I don’t know…but I’ll be strong.” His eyebrows creased his forehead as he brought his fist to his mouth, biting his knuckle as he forced an odd-sounding cry from this top of his throat. Jared, again, just laughed. Jensen sighed, bringing his hand down, face moving back to his typical cocky attitude. “So you’re gonna make me hang out with Misha for the next week? Jared…you heartless bastard.”

The younger lead’s shoulders raised and fell as he acted to look sympathetic. Looking as though he was going to say something thoughtful, he responded with, “You’ll manage,” before getting into the vehicle. As Jensen shut the door for him, Jared was rolling down the window, which Jensen just leaned on. “Make sure you call Danny this time.”

Jensen raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Jared frowned when Jensen only smirked. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you forgot to call her last year…until I reminded you, that is.”

A grin laced Jensen’s face. “Always lookin’ out for me, Jerry.” Jared rolled his eyes. “All right.” Jensen pulled back, but kept his hands on the door. “Well, tell Gen I said hey and call me when you get there.”

Jared snickered and shook his head. “Yeah. Okay, Mom.”

Jensen grinned. “Damn right.” He tapped on the door before dropping his hands. “See ya at the end of the week and be careful, would ya?”

Jared just nodded and waved him off as the cabbie finally began pulling away from the hotel. Jensen just watched the car drive off and the window roll up before releasing a sigh and turning around, walking back into the hotel.

* * *

Loud cheers erupted from the hotel’s basement bar as shots were drained and glasses were slammed on tables, only to be quickly replaced with full ones. Part of the cast cheered again when another round passed, celebrating the completion of the first half of season eight of _Supernatural_. A week break in-between filming was a time to kick back and relax, but, being in Vancouver, it was not as though it was enough time to travel to home and back. Jared was going to be cutting it close. Chances were that he would return the last day of the break. Granted, he would only see Genevieve for a few hours before having to turn right back around, but it was better than not at all.

Or so Jensen tried to convince himself as he took another swig of his beer.

It probably made him look like a horrible person—

Hell. He knew it made him look like a horrible person. Jared was taking advantage of the time off to see his wife, whereas, he, Jensen, was staying put. Danneel understood why, though; what with rarely having a break, and then using that small break time to travel, which tended to cause stress, anyway. So he did not have his drinking buddy or roommate. It was not as though he did not have anyone else to chill with.

Even though the random talk about unimportant crap with Jared in the early hours of the morning did garner entertainment.

“You look so out of place without Jared around.”

Jensen shook himself out of his thoughts and looked up just in time to see Misha taking a seat in the chair on the other end of the circular table. Jensen quickly raised his eyebrows and leaned back, bringing his beer to his lips to take another drink.

“I feel it.” Misha snickered, which had Jensen crook his mouth. “What’s that for?”

He eyed Misha, who only shrugged and leaned back in the chair, forcing it to balance on two legs.

“Nothing.”

The response was quick as he suddenly looked away innocently, avoiding his co-worker’s gaze. He dropped the chair with a thud and set his hands on the table, falling into a bow. Jensen could not help but question how many drinks Misha had pumping through his system. By the way he was acting, it was more than he needed.

“Okay, I’m lying.” Jensen snorted with sarcastic surprise as he leaned back on the table, holding the bottle by the neck close to his face. Misha lifted his head to meet Jensen’s eyes, his own eyes mismatched with intoxication. “Look, you and Jared are always – and mean _always_ – together. And I get it!” he said, waving his hand and shaking his head at Jensen’s amused face; though he most likely failed to realize the amused look was due to the way he was acting. “Best friends and all that. Been around each other for eight years, both from Texas, blah blah. But you all have…such, oh, what’s the word I want?” He honestly looked confused, as though he was desperately searching for the term. “Chemistry! That’s it!”

He stared at Jensen, his face flushed as he only watched the senior _Supernatural_ star continue to look at him with a half-cocked smile and raised eyebrows.

“Misha”—Misha creased his forehead in curiosity—“how much have you had?”

Misha laughed loudly, leaning forward on the table. His laugh was drowned out by the loud chatter and yelling around them.

“Don’t change the subject, Jensen!” He reached across the table, grabbing Jensen’s forearm. “If I can see it, so can everyone else. You’ve seen the stuff online.” Jensen moved his arm out of the way just as Misha swung his arm, nearly knocking the other’s beer all over the table. “You”—he held up his finger in front of his face—“you and Jared, something with you two.”

Jensen’s laugh caught in his throat and he took another drink to get rid of the knot. “Right. Because, you know, it’s not like we’re both married or anything.”

He jumped when Misha slapped his hand on the table.

“It’s a good cover!” Jensen found himself laughing, sporting all teeth as he laughed at Misha’s awkward inebriated laugh. “I’m onto you two.”

Jensen just nodded, also shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh, yeah. Don’t you know, Misha? That’s the real reason we share a room. All the late night sex – perfect cure for insomnia.”

Misha suddenly looked serious, though it was difficult for Jensen to take him that way when the other was as disheveled as he was. “Don’t mock me, Jen.” He tried to keep eye contact with Jensen as long as he could before he started laughing again. He pushed back the barstool and stood up, swaying as he did as he tried to walk around the table to where Jensen was sitting. He set his hand on Jensen’s shoulder, making the younger man stare sideways up at him. “I just want you to know that”—he turned his head to the side as a burp escaped his throat—“that I support you guys.”

Jensen only shook his head, chuckling and setting his drink on the table, facing Misha. “Dude, I think you need to knock off the alcohol.”

Misha stopped, looking as though he was about to say something, but, instead, turned his head to the side, facing the table away from Jensen. “I probably do.” With a stupid grin, he looked back to Jensen. “I’m not even sure which one of you I’m talking to.” He used Jensen’s shoulder to push himself up, barely catching his balance.

“Yeah…,” Jensen drew out as he stood up. “That’s it. You’re cut off.” He put his hand on Misha’s shoulder, making him turn the same direction as he started walking. “Come on. Let’s get you back to your room,” he said with a laugh as Misha looked back him, eyes hardly opening, but looking nearly oblivious, nonetheless. “Man, you’re gonna have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

* * *

Misha fell down on the bed, groaning as he rolled and sat up. Jensen stopped short when the older actor grabbed the sleeve to his shirt, having him turn to face him. Red-faced and swaying, an inebriated, lopsided smile attached itself to Misha’s face.

“Jen, I owe you,” he slurred.

Jensen laughed and pulled his arm away. “Yeah,” he said as Misha fell back on the bed and grabbed the comforter, entangling himself inside it. “You do.”

As he began walking back towards the door to leave, he overheard Misha mumbling. “I stand by on what I said.” Jensen paused, his hand on the door’s handle leading out. “You and Jared…something’s there….”

Jensen kept his eyes on the door handle. “Misha?” He looked back; Misha’s back was to him and there was silence. He glanced down and turned back, opening the door and leaving a passed out Misha behind.

Once in the hallway, he debated whether or not to return to the cast party downstairs in the bar, or call it a night and head to bed. If he went back downstairs, the best he had to look forward to was getting hammered and mindlessly chatting with his fellow co-stars; Jim always had entertaining things to day, which was an incentive. Not that the others were not entertaining, but without Jared to joke around with and make normal moments awkward, it was not going to be as entertaining – that was for certain. He managed to talk himself out of going back down and ended up walking down the hall to room 1235; he made a sideways glance to 1236, Jared’s room, as he took out his room key. His back to the other’s vacant room, he inserted the key, pushed the door open once it flashed green and allowed the door to slam shut once he was within its quarters.

He sighed and took his jacket off, tossing it on the table the television was on, then walked into the bathroom, being sure to flip the light on. He turned on the sing and took off his shirt before washing his face, not wanting to soak the linen in the oddly leveled sink.

When he exited the restroom, he was clad only in jeans as he dried his face with a hand towel. His stare became curious when he approached his bed, tossing the towel on the nightstand. He must have missed it when he first walked in, but there was a box sitting on the bed; much like the elongated boxed flowers would be delivered in. Believing it to be an early Valentine’s Day gift from Danneel, he smiled inwardly as he opened the lid. Inside was another box, this one smaller and heart-shaped, under a card and a DVD in a red paper sleeve. On the outside of the card, in large lettering, were the words ‘THIS FIRST.’ He slid his finger under the flap, tearing it open and pulling out the white and pink Valentine card. The smile faded after he opened it and began reading.

_Jensen Ackles,_

_Let me take the time to say that I’m honored to have you read this – I’m one of your biggest fans._

_Noting that, I hate knowing that you’re alone on Valentine’s Day. What with being on location, Danneel currently filming that movie and Jared off, you have to be bored. When I found out you were staying in the Hilton here in Vancouver, I had to send you something. I apologize if this is inconvenient, but I couldn’t pass up this chance!_

_You’re one of the best actors I’ve ever watched, and I don’t want to sound like some crazed fanatic saying that – it’s sincere. To be perfectly honest, you outshine Jared by far. I personally don’t care for his acting. It’s overplayed, overbearing and he never seems sincere whenever you two are on or off camera. You deserve better than that and his uncaring demeanor pisses me off._

_Sorry. I have a tendency to rant. Anyway, I sent you a quick DVD (that I hope you’ll watch) and a small gift. The present will make a lot more sense if you watch the DVD first, though. So…please do that._

_Much love,_

_L.F_

Jensen picked up the box and DVD, set the heart-shaped box on the bed and crossed the room to where his laptop sat plugged in on the table by the window. Though he was used to receiving items from fans, he found it a little odd that a package was able to make it to his room; one of the hotel workers must have dropped it off – he had not been in his room since that morning when he had gotten ready. As he took the laptop off of its charger and walked back over to sit on the edge of the bed, he found himself growing annoyed at how the person portrayed Jared. Part of him wanted to take the others items and throw them through a shredder, but the other half was curious enough to take a look. He only had to type in the password once the laptop was opened before being taken to the home screen; he took the DVD out of the sleeve and leaned over as he inserted the disc into the drive. The beach ball cursor spun as it loaded the disc, opening up in VLC media player.

What looked like a handheld camera was being used to film a scene on an old-school television set; the scene took place in a mineshaft, showing a miner with a pickaxe going after a fellow coalminer. Jensen instantly recognized it as the 2009 version of _My Bloody Valentine_ ; seeing his younger self behind a cage yelling at the masked killer confirmed this. He watched as the other was killed and the person holding the camera shook.

“This is my favourite part,” their distorted voice said, seemingly excited as the killer walked towards Tom, Jensen’s character. The camera shook a little more.

“Will you knock it off with the goddamn video?” a voice in the background asked, obviously aggravated.

The person holding the camera sighed and shifted the camera to themselves, looking into the lens. The room they were in was very dim and messy, most likely a basement, shed or shelter, and the man himself was lanky, probably around Jensen’s height. Black, scraggly hair reached the bottom of their sharp jaw and, when they smiled into the camera, a silver cap on their white canine stuck out on somewhat crooked teeth.

“Hi, Jensen,” they perked, gray eyes amused. “I want to meet you so badly. I’ve seen all of your films – TV shows, movies, interviews, and I just want you to know that you’ve been my idol since I was a teen. Looked up to you. When I saw you at Comic Con last year, best moment of my life!” There was the sound of an annoyed sigh from the other person in the room. “Oh! And this is my friend, by the way.” He turned the camera away from him, facing the other man in the room, zooming in on them. They looked in their early twenties, had a bulky stature and did not appear to be amused at their friend’s antics. “He’s a bit of a grouch, but what are you gonna do? He just wants to hurry up and do this, already.” They zoomed in further as their friend sneered at the camera, ducking to get out of its view.

“Come on. Stop fooling around. You said you wanted to do this in short segments,” they said as the other, who Jensen assumed to be L.F, the writer of the letter, began to retract the zoom and turn the camera back on himself.

“He’s excited,” L.F whispered to the camera. “I can’t blame him. I’m kind of excited, too. Now! About the box I sent you,” he started, walking with the camera and seeming to set it on something, appeared to be a tripod the way he was adjusting it as he stayed in front of it. “Don’t open it, yet, if you haven’t already. It’s not gonna make much sense if you open it before we show you this.” He stepped back, still blocking the camera’s view of anything behind him as he bent down in front of it. “In honor of your movie, _My Bloody Valentine_ , I wanted to do something to commemorate you for it. It was that movie that inspired this, actually. But, ah!” He waved his hand. “I’m getting ahead of myself.” He turned to look over his shoulder. “G, turn on the light so it’s visible when I step back.” A low watt bulb turned on behind him. “Is it angled right?”

Jensen could see the shadow pattern on the basement walls adjusting as the light was adjusted.

“It is, now,” came the response.

“Perfect.” L.F turned back to the camera, smiling in an amused way. “Jensen, this is all for you.”

When they stood and began walking back, the rest of background was exposed and Jensen found himself angling his screen and narrowing his eyes, trying to make out what it was he was supposed to be looking at. It looked like an old operating table with something strapped down to it. He cocked his head. It looked like a really large mannequin attached with leather binds to the table. At least, he thought whatever it was was fake until he noticed it was breathing.

“Are you sure the light’s not fucking up the camera pixilation?” their friend, G, as he had been called, asked as he touched the lamp hovering above the table.

“It’s fine.” They ducked down underneath the table, seeming to search for something. “Where’s the lever to angle this thing?”

“Lower left side,” they said, looking down under the table. “See that silver handle? Yeah. Press it and it should release it so we can angle it up.” There was a click and an odd groan from the table as it shifted slightly. G pushed on the edge of the table closest to the camera to angle the table at a slight slope, giving the camera a better view of what was on the table.

His heart felt as though it dropped into his stomach and his mouth fell open.

Strapped to the table was Jared, his head and limbs held in place with leather straps. His mouth was crudely taped over with duct tape and the silver seemed to wrap around his head multiple times; his face was bruised and battered, a large gash was over his right eye; he was devoid of all clothing, the only thing covering him was one of the large leather straps going around his groin to keep him in place.

A glint of silver in the hands of L.F caught Jensen’s eye and he adverted his attention to that, which ended up being a scalpel. He pointed it at the camera. “Jared pisses me off, Jensen,” they said; Jared’s half-groggy eyes looked up at him, away from the camera. Whatever it was, he appeared to be out of it. “He acts like he cares about you, but then steals the limelight away all the damn time. If you ask me, that just seems rude.” He looked back to G. “I say we start.”

The other raised their eyebrows. “What about the others? Shouldn’t we wait?”

“Why?” they asked, annoyed at the suggestion.

The other scoffed. “What if they ratted us out?”

At this, the other only laughed. “They’re not gonna do that!” The other just stared back at him. “Look. They can’t get us for conspiracy, because it’s already happened. They’re now accessories, so they’re looking at the same amount of time we are if they’re caught or they say anything.”

The other only shrugged. “Fine.” He scanned Jared before setting his hand on the actor’s lower right side. “You’re gonna wanna cut here, by the way. I have no idea what you’re after on that side.”

“Don’t mock me. I’m not a doctor.”

For some reason, they both found the saying hysterical and L.F walked to the other side of the table. He bent down over Jared, the scalpel in his hand as he pressed it to the other’s upper right quadrant of his abdomen, creating a slice. Vomit rose in the back of Jensen’s throat, but he was unable to look away, expression horrified as his co-star’s muffled yells filled the speakers of his laptop. In the back of his mind, he was hoping that what he was watching was a sick joke, but as L.F continued, he spoke for the camera.

“So, by now, you’re probably figuring out what’s in the box,” he said, directing the statement towards Jensen.

“Unless he knows shit about anatomy.”

There was more laughter filling the cluttered basement, drowning out the other’s muffled shouts. “Don’t interrupt me,” L.F said, though he was trying to keep from chuckling. “As I was saying. Look, Jensen, I’m doing this to prove a point: That you’re really better off without this loser and that you truly just don’t care what happens to him.” He picked the scalpel up and began creating a slice to form a cross. “If you do, you have as long to track him as long as he’s still kicking…that is unless he goes into shock beforehand.” He stopped and looked up at Jared, whose face was red as pain-filled water streaked his face. “But you’ll hold out on me, right, Jare?”

There was the sound of a door opening in the background, which pulled both of their attentions away from their intended victim. “I guess they showed up, after all,” G spoke, walking away from the table and walking passed the camera, out of sight. L.F sighed and set the scalpel on an old-wooden table that was pushed against the wall behind the table before moving to follow after his comrade. He stopped and leaned back down in front of the camera.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jensen Ackles.”

That was all he said as he reached around the camera and shut it off, the screen going black.

He continued to stare at the screen in shock, trying to take in what he had just witnessed. Barely even coherent, he slowly turned his attention to the small, heart-shaped box. With a shaking hand, he grabbed the lid's lip and slowly lifted it up. Seeing its contents, he could no longer hold back his will and ended up vomiting on the floor, his laptop falling between the bed and the table.

Inside the box was covered in blood; in the center was a piece of a liver.


	2. Never Tell, Never Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the week of Valentine's Day, the cast takes a break after filming the first half of Supernatural.
> 
> Like every year, fan-letters come flooding in for the stars of the show. One in particular that was sent to Jensen gains attention when a video is included with a small box. A letter asks that the video be watched before the box is opened.
> 
> The one filming says how their favourite movie is My Bloody Valentine and that they are a huge fan of Jensen. The break of relaxation quickly turns to a real-life horror film as the person shows Jared, locked and bound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's go on a magical adventure to a place of gore and rot! ╰(✧∇✧╰)

**2: Never Tell, Never Tell**

Jensen stopped outside the closed door to Jared’s vacant hotel room, his eyes staring blankly, his mind feeling numb. Telling Misha what was going on just brought back the video and Jared’s abused image. The investigators had taken the video, as well, but something in his stomach had told him to make a copy; which he did straight to the hard drive of his computer. His hand continued to fumble with the cellphone in his pocket, wanting to send a text or try to call Jared again, even knowing it would not garner a response, other than Jared’s voicemail. With a sigh, he turned his back towards the door and reached into his other pocket to pull out the key to his own room. He inserted it into the slot and pulled down the handle as he extracted the card and it flashed green. He let the door shut behind him; the silence met his ears like hollow wind. During filming, he had become used to talking to Jared well past the time they both should have been passed out.

Since their break started two days ago, Jared had crashed in Jensen’s room both nights – mainly because either he was too hammered or Jensen was too hammered to have the coherency to get their hotel key out of their pocket or even make it to the bathroom on their own. The comment had been made more than once on why they had separate rooms at all. Being alone felt wrong and he found himself thinking that, at any moment, he would hear a knock on the door and Jared would be saying he had forgotten some miniscule thing once he had made it to the airport.

A false hope as he stood in the silence.

The air conditioner under the window at the opposite end of the room kicked on and he released a sigh, walked to the bed and sat on the edge, eyes focused on the door. He stared blankly at it for a few minutes, lost in thought, mind tracing back to the video. He tried to recall the room and all of the items in it, trying not to focus on the people – something that would give rise to a possible location, a license plate on the wall or a poster. He could not recall the room and his eyes glanced sideways to his laptop, which was on the bedside table. Mind arguing whether or not to pull it back up, his desperation to know got the better of him. He leaned sideways and reached to grab the computer; once the lid was opened, it asked for the passcode. The screen loaded once it was typed in. The arrow hovered over the folder icon as he continued to debate. Taking a deep inhale, he clicked on it and the My Videos folder opened in full screen. Amongst the videos, he scrolled down to the one he had copied over from the disk. Bile rose in his throat just at the mere memory of the video and he gave himself one last chance to stop – one last chance to close the laptop and leave it up to the officials.

Curiosity reigned over him and he double-clicked the file.

The video opened in VLC Media Player once again and, instead of letting it run on its own, he grabbed the bar and dragged it until it was the full view of the room, and then paused it. Other than random items, the only other thing on the screen was the corner of a poster on the wall behind the table. He zoomed in, trying to get the best view of it as he could. He felt the need to chuck the laptop across the room when he recognized the background and visible leg as the promotional poster for the seventh season of _Supernatural_. Feeling anger and frustration rising, he closed out of it. Trying to shut his mind off of it and do as the police suggested and just let them do their jobs, he opened the internet, the homepage already being set to his email account. Still, in the back of his mind, he kept thinking he would see something from Jared, an email he had sent from his phone, even, saying what he had been by before falling off of the grid.

The only thing in his account was an email from some unknown address. Just as he was about to delete it, the thought came into his head that no one outside of his friends and family knew his email. He did not even use the address on websites, so as to avoid spam. Once he opened it, his eyebrows furrowed together before his eyes went wide and his heart sunk to his bowels.

_Jensen Ackles,_

_I’m assuming that, by now, you’ve probably gone to the police. Quite a shame, really. Makes things less personal. To each their own, I suppose._

_I told you before that I would keep you up-to-date on Jared’s condition, so I’m letting you know that he’s still doing all right. For now, anyway. The sooner you realize you’re better off without him, the sooner we can put this all behind us._

_You have no idea how badly I want to meet you, Jensen. If I could just have the chance to meeting you in person…. I’m rambling. I apologize._

_To the point: since I probably won’t be able to contact you physically like as with the first video, through your email would be better, right? You know, your information’s really not that difficult to find if the person looking is determined enough. Word to the wise._

_Still your biggest fan,_

_L.F_

Blinking away the water that he did not even realize had formed from his ducts, his eyes scanned the page to see a link to a video. He wanted to know. The feeling in the pit of his stomach begged to know it would show, even though his brain was yelling at him not to, that it would just upset him further and he would end up wrecking his computer; but he had to know.

His clicked the link to open. It took hardly any time the page to load, but what he was introduced to was a live stream. The screen was black, but he could still hear the noise of people. There was shifting and the black screen, which had been the cap still on the camera lens, was removed, the scene behind it blurring as the camera’s automated sensors changed to accommodate the lighting.

“I’m telling you, it’s fine,” the recognizable voice of L.F came from behind the device.

It took a moment for Jensen to decipher what it was the camera was zoomed in on – it was red and puffy.

“If they trace it back—”

“Shut up, dude. It’s showing he’s logged onto the feed.”

He zoomed out just enough to where the full view of what he had been zoomed in on was shown: a large cut was a dark red and had apparently been sewn up with a standard needle and black thread. The camera shook and it quickly scanned up Jared’s torso to his face, right before being pulled back to show the familiar face of G. He appeared to be highly aggravated; whether that was because of the situation or his comrade messing around with the camera was left up to debate. He sneered when he realized he was on tape before glancing down to Jared.

“To be honest, I’m surprised he made it through that,” they spoke, obviously amused. “Your average person would have gone into shock less than halfway through.”

The camera shook as L.F laughed and panned the screen back to Jared. His eyes flickered, proving that he was still conscious. “What can I say?” L.F’s hand reached in view and he flicked a piece of Jared’s hair away from his face. “I know my shit. Besides, you act like I was gonna take the whole thing out. I want to keep him _alive_ ”—he drew out the word—“and have some fun. Call it my personal experiment.” The camera shook again as G was heard sighing in the background. “How many organs do you think the human body can live without?”

He brought the view back to G, who shrugged and moved out of view, leaving the camera facing the basement wall. L.F panned the camera around to land on the area with the television from earlier; only G’s torso was in the frame.

“Keep the heart or brain for last. You only need one kidney.”

L.F began walking away from the table, back to where the camera had been positioned earlier. He faced the camera back towards him; smears of blood were on his forehead and Jensen’s chest tensed, knowing it was not his own. The mere thought had vomit rise in his throat, but he swallowed it back down. The camera shook as L.F began mounting it as he had done before.

“Ah, I’m not gonna mess with the brain. The skull’s too thick.” He stepped back, staring at it to make sure it was straight. Seeming satisfied, he turned to face his ally. “But! I do want to try out what we talked about earlier.”

At that, G seemed to tense. His shoulders hunched up and he shuddered. “Just thinking about that makes me cringe.” He looked to Jared, whose hand slightly moved under the leather strap that kept it down. “You sure it’s not going to kill him?”

L.F moved to the side off screen and could be heard sorting through items. “No way. I designed it solely for the entertainment factor – you know, like Medieval Devices. Not meant to kill, just meant to…have a little fun.” He came back into view of the camera, holding a plastic, black device that had been attached to, what looked like a short, metal pole. He faced the camera, holding it up so it was in full view. “Jensen, this one was inspired by you in the fourth season of _Supernatural_ , when your character had to torture Alistair. It made me think of really painful and humiliating ways to torture someone and this”—he turned the device around in his hand—“is what I came up with.” He looked at it, pride on his face for coming up with the idea. “I guess you could say it’s like the Pear of Anguish, but it doesn’t open up like that – it was the idea I had in my head when making it, though. Check it out.”

On the base of the device was a small, brown rotating switch. Holding the metal pole that came out of the base, he flicked the small wheel with his thumb. Jensen jumped when dozens of small, metal, what looked like blades shot out of holes that ran up and down it. He held it out in front of the camera, showing the sharpened points of each one.

“This thing took me over a month to make. Originally, the spikes were longer, but I realized that it would puncture too deep and cause too much damage for the person to survive. So, I shortened them.” He flicked the rotator again and the blades disappeared back into the device. He walked passed G to the table, standing over Jared’s bound form. “You should consider yourself lucky and be grateful I’m merciful.”

At that, G scoffed and snorted a laugh, getting a frown from his partner. “Is that what you’re calling it, now?” He pushed off of the table and walked over, standing on the opposite side of the table. “For some reason, I don’t think he sees it that way.”

L.F clicked his tongue. “Selfish bastard.”

Again, they laughed at the nonexistent joke.

“All right, let’s get his legs propped up.”

Just as that, Jared’s entire body began tensing and, with whatever energy he had left, began pulling and jerking against the leather straps; muffled screaming was heard behind the layers of tape around his mouth as G grabbed a small lever by Jared’s left foot and pressed it down. Apparently, the sections of the table moved, because he slid it up, having the other’s leg go into a bend. As L.F was moving things around on the counter behind the table, G did the same thing with Jared’s other leg; Jared immediately pressed his knees together. L.F, without looking, handed G a metal pole with a strap on each end. Jared was still putting up a fight when G grabbed his knee to wrap the first strap around his lower thigh.

“Chill out,” they said in aggravation. “Only thing you’re going to manage to do is to tear your stitches back open; and I doubt you want a repeat of that.”

Jared’s body fell still and G seemed content as he attached the other side, keeping the _Supernatural_ star’s legs opened. Jensen found himself holding his hand over his mouth, eyes wide as L.F walked to the front of the table. He put his hand on Jared’s inner thigh as, from what Jensen was guessing, he began to press the device against his co-star’s entrance, because Jared started yelling again, voice muffled.

“Shit, it’s not gonna fit,” L.F said, looking up at G.

“So put something on it so it will slide in.”

L.F just nodded his head and started looking around the room. “Hand me that,” he pointed to something on the table. G walked around him to pick it up and hold it to confirm. The other nodded and he returned to hand him the switchblade. L.F flicked it open and, without hesitation, made a long cut down the inside of Jared’s leg; blood immediately began pouring from it, spilling down his skin. Using his hand, he let the blood pour onto it. Jensen was shaking his head, though it was debatable whether or not he knew he was, as the guy in the video used the blood to coat his creation. Shifting back, he started to press it back against the other’s rectum, garnering more muffled yells and shouts. After a minute or so, L.F leaned back and pushed himself to a stand. “Go ahead and get that tape off of his mouth – I wanna hear this.”

He passed the knife back to G, who merely shrugged an okay. Not even bothering to be careful, he pressed the knife under the lip of the duct tape and sliced upwards, cutting it off and cutting Jared’s cheek in the process. He ripped it off, pulling all of the layers off that had been wrapped around his head. The moment his mouth was freed, Jared released a gasp that was quickly followed by a pain-filled yell. His chest vibrated hastily up and down, breath shaking as his head turned to look up at G.

“Please….”

Jensen’s breath hitched in his throat. “Oh, god….” Hearing Jared’s voice completely defeated, his heart sunk – hearing a tone that even skills in acting could not mimic.

“Sorry, buddy,” G said as he touched Sam’s shoulder. “It’s not my call.”

He looked to L.F, who turned to face the camera and step off to the side, giving Jensen a view of his co-worker. The only thing that was visible was the end to the small pole sticking out between his legs.

“Let’s see if Jared still wants you touching him after this.”

Jensen was shaking his head, eyes wide. He watched L.F press his hands to the base and glance quickly up to Jared right before—

“NO!” Jensen found himself shouting at the laptop and grabbing that screen as Jared’s screams filled the speakers. “JARED!!” He somehow found himself holding the screen of the laptop as he stood up, staring down at it at a ninety-degree angle. His heart hammered in his chest as liquid dropped from his ducts, face red. “JARED!”

There was a pounding on the hotel door, but he was too focused on the screen of his laptop to pay it the slightest notion, even when the voice on the other end was calling his name.

Laughter mixed in with Jared’s constant yells as visible blood dripped from his rectum onto the table.

“I think he’s enjoying it!” G’s laugh called out over the screaming.

“Oh, it gets better,” L.F chimed in as he grabbed the pole and turned it slightly, garnering even more blood-curdling screams.

But, then, Jared began screaming words, which drained the color from the others’ faces as it registered what he was yelling.

“HEATHROW ONE FOUR EIGHT TWO! ONE FOUR EIGHT TWO!”

“Fuck!” G cursed as he tried to move quickly to the other side of the table, hitting his leg on the corner of it. Another curse followed and L.F had taken the knife from before and jammed it into Jared’s leg, but it did nothing and he kept repeating it.

“Shit! Can you shut him up!”

They scrambled about, trying to get Jared to stop yelling. But even as his mouth was grabbed, and even though his shouts were flooded with pain as water streaked down his face, he would not stop yelling it.

Jared pulled his head to the side, trying to get away from the grip. “ONE FOUR EIGHT TWO! ONE FOUR EIGHT TWO!!”

“Get the camera! TURN OFF THE DAMN CAMERA!” G was screaming as L.F stumbled over paraphernalia to get to the live stream. Jensen could see a blood-soaked rag being shoved into Jared’s mouth just as L.F made it to the camera and unplugged the device.

Jensen was not even sure when or how the person from the other side of the door made it into his room, but they were pulling the laptop from Jensen’s hands and grabbing his shoulder in the process. The laptop fell on the floor and, next thing he knew, Misha had wrapped his arms around his shoulders and was holding his head, trying to get him to calm down as Jensen broke down in hysterics, calling Jared’s name over and over.  


	3. Metal and Leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the week of Valentine's Day, the cast takes a break after filming the first half of Supernatural.
> 
> Like every year, fan-letters come flooding in for the stars of the show. One in particular that was sent to Jensen gains attention when a video is included with a small box. A letter asks that the video be watched before the box is opened.
> 
> The one filming says how their favourite movie is My Bloody Valentine and that they are a huge fan of Jensen. The break of relaxation quickly turns to a real-life horror film as the person shows Jared, locked and bound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-by-one, they all fall down~♪

**3: Metal and Leather**

Jensen groaned and rolled over, grabbing the covers of the bed and wrapping himself in a mock-cocoon. His head pounded and he clamped his eyes shut when light invaded the shelter of his lids; he pulled the covers over his head, trying to force out as much light as he could. He did not even recall falling asleep; but what he did recall was a horrifying nightmare of videos of Jared bleeding and screaming. He kept seeing the same face over and over: L.F with the crooked teeth and unkempt black hair, leaning over Jared’s tortured form with a sadistic smile pasted onto his face.

A horrific nightmare.

Full of blood and metal.

He felt something heavy on the bed next to him. The thought ran across his head that he and Jared passed out late last night in the middle of some pointless conversation; and perhaps that was what the images playing in his head were: a dream.

The room blurred as his eyes opened, slowly focusing. However, instead of seeing Jared, his vision focused on Misha’s torso. Apparently, his costar had fallen asleep sitting up against the headboard, his head falling off to the side. Jensen pushed himself up. He tried to recall Misha coming into his room, but last night was much of a blurred rush of horrible images. The sound of Jared screaming echoed around his head; screams of shear pain. Just the memory of it had his eyes burn and nausea wash over him. Because if Misha was in the room, then that meant all of those images and sounds had been…real.

The images of Jared came back full-throttle, flashing before his eyes like a cruel and taunting music box.

_“HEATHROW ONE FOUR EIGHT TWO!_ ”

He jerked, head jerking around. He threw the covers off of him, barely even noticing that there was a lack of sunlight behind the curtains; which either meant that it was early morning or overcast. A quick glance down at himself showed that he was still fully dressed, but he did not give it much thought and went to grab his laptop, only to realize that it was not sitting on the table next to the bed, anymore. Eyebrows pressed together as he scanned the room. He spotted it sitting on top of the television; he definitely did not recall putting it there. Then again, the last thing he recalled was holding onto someone’s shirt as he broke down after watching….

That was who was in his room last night or early that morning, he realized, glancing over his shoulder to Misha. He must have passed out after his bout, because he could not remember actually lying down to go to sleep – his mind would not have willingly allowed itself to shutdown long enough for rest, not with everything that was happening.

He shook the thought and went to retrieve his laptop. Once he grabbed it and popped it open, it loaded to the wake-up page, making him type in his password before it would allow him to go any further. After it was typed in, the screen popped back up to the black-screen of what had been the live feed. Biting back the urge to release a shout and throw his laptop onto the floor, he clicked for a new tab, then took himself to Google. His fingers clicked on the keyboard as he plugged in “Heathrow 1482”. His chest sunk when the only thing to come up was for British Airways. Aggravation setting in, he tried again, this time typing in their location, as well. Unfortunately, nothing came up at all that was even the slightest bit helpful.

“Maybe he misread the sign.”

Jensen jumped and turned to see Misha sitting up and nodding towards the screen. Not responding, Jensen looked back at the laptop, making a grunt from the top of his throat. Looking at the results that meant nothing aggravated him and he slammed the laptop shut, tossing it behind him onto the bed. He set his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep inhale as he tried to stay composed and not allow his emotions to get the best of him yet again. The weight shifted on the bed as Misha moved to get off. The younger star stared straight ahead of him as Misha came around to his side, staring down at him. Deeply inhaling, Jensen gazed at him, his eyes tired and red. It was odd seeing Misha so composed; the usually cocky actor that was always joking and being able to get even the most straight-faced person to crack a smile appeared so much more mature.

“What if they killed him?” He watched Misha’s jaw tense as he took a breath before sitting on the bed next to him. His look to Jensen’s was sympathetic as Jensen tried to keep his voice from shaking. “What if he said too much and they just killed him?” A hand being set on his shoulder blade was the only response Misha gave to him. Jensen tried to stop talking, but his mouth did not seem to want to listen to his brain and he kept going. “Tell me he’s fine – I don’t care if it’s a lie, but I need to hear it.” He could feel his eyes burning as the light in the room started to glow from seeing it through water.

Misha shook his head at the expression, his hand lightly rubbing the other’s back. “Jared’s not weak, you know? He’s a freak, the size of a bus and a complete pervert.” Jensen forced a laugh from the pit of his throat and Misha took his hand back, setting his elbows on his knees. “He’s got the mental capacity to, not only put up with me, but put up with you and if that doesn’t mean he’s got one strong-assed mentality, then I don’t know what does.” He turned his head to look at his costar, who was staring straight ahead at the door. “They’re going to find him and he’s going to be fine.”

Silence filled the room as he continued to stare at Jensen, waiting for some form of response. Finally, after a tense few minutes, Jensen straightened up, inhaling deeply before taking to his feet. He turned to look at the other star, a fierce determination set into his features. “I’m not waiting that long.” Misha’s look was curious. “I’m not gonna sit around while some pigs, who don’t give a shit, half-ass their jobs.”

He did not give the older male a chance to reply and, in a few strides, was at the door, swinging it open and walking out. Misha quickly followed after him, only to catch up to him as he went through the door to the stairwell. Their shoes hit on the cement stairs sounding like tap dancing, moving flights in seconds. A girl coming up the staircase glued herself to the wall as they actors went by her and she watched them until they disappeared around the next turn, more than likely recognizing them, whereas she leaned over the railing to watch them descend. Twelve flights to reach the bottom and Jensen pushed through the door, swinging it open far enough for Misha to go through without even having to touch it. The doorway let them out at the end of the hall with the elevators and, when they entered the lobby, the realization hit on what time it was.

The windows in the lobby showed early morning air and the people standing at the front desk with bags checking out proved that it was still dawn. From what they could see out of the lobby windows, it was gray and a light fog had invaded the streets: it was a strange irony. The only thing that could have made it worse was had it have been raining.

Misha’s distracted attention was drawn back when he noticed Jensen pushing himself in front of the first person in the line at the front desk. He could not hear what they were saying, but the agitated look on the person’s face was more than likely followed by an obscenity, but Jensen just held up his hand to cut them off as he focused his attention on the clerk. Eyes darting over to a guard that was starting to make his way over to the _Supernatural_ star, Misha walked as quickly as he could and grabbed Jensen’s shoulder just as he got to the counter and heard the clerk say, “I’m sorry, sir, but you’re going to have to wait.”

Jensen jerked his shoulder to shake off Misha’s grip. “I’m sick of waiting, goddamn it!”

“Some of us have places to go,” the man that Jensen had cut in front of snapped.

“Your cab can wait five freakin’ minutes,” he shot back over his shoulder, then turned back to the clerk. “Look, it’ll take five seconds: I just need to know if there’s a place called Heathrow—”

“Is there a problem, here?”

The look of aggravation in Jensen’s demeanor was blatantly obvious when the security guard came up to them, one hand on his belt as the other set on the counter, forcing the star to turn his attention to him. Much like an agitated smirk his character would give, Jensen was delivering the same one to the official. “Everything’s fine, officer.”

The official’s eyes moved to the clerk, but the man behind them piped back in. “This prick won’t wait and I’ve got a flight I’ve got to catch.”

Finally seeming fed up with him, Jensen spun around to face them. “If you’d shut your goddamn mouth for five freakin’ seconds, I would have already been done!” Again, he faced the clerk. “Please, I need to—”

“Sir, please come with me,” the officer said as they grabbed Jensen’s upper arm.

He pulled his arm away. “It’s fine, I just need to know—”

“I won’t say it again, sir.”

Misha finally broke in when it was about to become apparent that Jensen was going to either get arrested or escorted away. He grabbed Jensen’s shoulder again, this time being successful in pulling him back and putting his hand up to the guard. “We’re sorry, sir. Didn’t sleep well last night and haven’t had coffee, yet.” His hand had shifted from holding Jensen’s shoulder to holding his upper arm as he started to pull him away from the desk. The guard seemed to let it slide, whereas he sighed, nodded to the man that had been cut off and walked away.

When they were near the front doors, the younger male took his arm back, glaring towards the front desk. “God, bunch of worthless fu—”

“Excuse me. Mr. Ackles?”

Both of them turned to see a young female in her early twenties standing behind them near the door. Her appearance was disheveled, medium-length brown hair a mess, as though she had just finished rolling on the ground. “Oh, thank god,” she said, sounding relieved. The thought ran through their heads that it was a fan of the show that found out what hotel they were staying at, but that all changed when she came out with, “I’m sorry.” They stared at her intently, eyebrows pressed together as they exchanged curious expressions.

“What?” was the first thing out of Misha’s mouth followed by Jensen saying:

“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“I didn’t know they would actually do it,” she spoke face, her brown eyes red and puffy. As she stood there, trembling with Jensen and Misha staring at her as though she had escaped from a mental institution, Jensen’s eyes started to widen, realizing what she was referring to. When she saw the change in his expression, she shook her head, eyes filling up with water. “We were just joking around, you know?” she started, a nervous smile falling on her rounded features. “Saying we would do stupid things; like when you’re broke and you say you’re gonna rob a bank. You’re not actually going to do it, but Lance took it too far – I’m so sorry, Jensen, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—” Her breath caught in her throat, finally cutting off her rambling.

He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Her face was red as remorseful tears streaked her face. “Where is he?” he demanded, but she was shaking so much, she was having trouble speaking. He gripped her shoulders tighter and shook her, voice coming out much harsher when he went, “Where the hell is he?!”

“I – I—”

She was stuttering, voice catching in her throat.

“Heathrow…,” he muttered looking away from her for only a moment before putting his eyes back on her. “Heathrow 1482, what is that? A – a street? A building? What is it?” His grip was digging into her shoulders. “What is it!?”

Misha grabbed Jensen’s shoulder and pulled him back, but he shoved off his costar’s hand and released his grip on the girl’s shoulders. It did not stop his expression and harsh stare. She took a step away from them, looking as though she was about to run, but her eyes started searching around in front of her. Appearing to have found what she was searching for, her eyebrows knitted together.

“Heathrow…. It doesn’t mean….” She trailed off right before her eyes lit up. “Harthlow…the old insane asylum?” she muttered to herself, still not looking back to them. Her brown hair moved in front of her face when she shook her head. “All the way on Glendale…they…moved it?”

She suddenly seemed confused, but shook the thought, face overcome with shear dread. Before either of the stars could comment, she took off running from the lobby. Jensen cursed and took off after her, but by the time he pushed through the doors leading outside, she had vanished down the sidewalk. Another curse escaped his throat as Misha came up behind him; the older male did not even have a chance to get in a word before Jensen was at the edge of the sidewalk, waving his hand to try to catch one of the few cabs out so early. When one blew passed him, he ended up stepping out in front of another, forcing them to stop. His hand was on the door handle when Misha grabbed his arm.

“Where are you going?!”

Jensen pulled the door open. “Wherever it was that chick said.” He moved to sit in the cab.

“Have you lost your mind? We need to call the police!” His hand was on the door, keeping Jensen from shutting it. The other just growled and shot him a glare.

“Then you do that, but I’m going to check it out.”

“Jen—”

“Don’t bother. Because if it really is those sick fucks, I’m going to kill’em.”

Misha took his hand off the door, but shoved Jensen over in the cab, forcing himself in the seat next to his co-star. “Well, I can’t risk you going by yourself.” He shut the door, opposing Jensen’s look and pulled out his phone to dial for emergency. As Jensen gave the location to the cab driver, Misha was giving the same information to an emergency personnel.

* * *

The area was not that far from the hotel. Outside of the city were a cluster of rundown neighborhoods and the cabbie dropped them off on a street called Glendale. Jensen practically shoved the cash to the driver, saying for him to keep the change as he followed after Misha; the second the door was shut to the vehicle, the driver pulled away. An iron fence ran around what appeared to be the grounds to the abandoned mental facility. The building itself was dark with broken windows on the lower floors of all of the attached buildings. Though there was undoubtedly a break somewhere in the fence for people to easily slip through, the _Supernatural_ stars did not bother to search for it and, instead, ended up hopping the fence. Jensen’s shoes hit the ground below, followed by his palms when he fell forward. Right as he tried to stand up, he heard Misha curse, the sound of something rip and, next thing he knew, the weight of the other was on his back.

“Damn it,” Misha groaned as he rolled off of him, sitting on the ground. Jensen pushed himself up and looked next to him to see Misha staring at a long rip and large gash on his inner thigh. The older man cursed again when he touched it, garnering a light sting. Without turning his head, he said, “Jeans caught on the fence.”

“You gonna be good?” Jensen stood up, dusting the dirt off of his pants.

He nodded and pushed himself to stand, catching his balance when pressure from the muscles in his leg flexing pushed against the wound. “Yeah.” The blood trickled down his leg, disappearing into the boundary of the fabric. “Shit’s not as easy in real life.”

An odd laugh caught in Jensen’s throat. “No kidding. C’mon.” He lightly hit Misha in the chest as they began walking across the grounds. Between the morning fog and the overcast skies, the asylum looked as though it had stepped out of a horror film. Wind picked up, chilling the air, which did not help the feeling of dread both of the actors were experiencing. Around the base of the asylum, the doors were locked and the only door that was not locked ended up being an outside janitor’s closet. Instead of focusing on finding an unlocked door, they ended up splitting up, each going around a different side to look for a window that was unlocked without bars. The thought that all bad things in movies happens when the characters split up was a fleeting thought through Jensen’s mind. Most of the windows he checked were busted with jagged pieces of glass sticking up, but the insides all had cast iron bars.

When he managed to find an unlocked window, he stood facing the side, bent his elbow and bashed it into the glass, breaking it; however, when he knocked the glass out of the way, he released a frustrated shout, balled up his fist and punched the safety glass that was set in a half-foot passed the window. Pain shot through his hand and up his arm as he pulled his arm back, holding his hand as more swears escaped from his mouth. His attention was drawn when he caught movement from his peripheral vision and saw Misha jogging up to him. He took a glance from the busted window to Jensen’s hand, shook his head and pointed behind him. “I think I found the way in.” He led Jensen back around the side of the building, passing the one they were by and following one of the overhangs to a connected building. Standing by the edge where the overhang met the building, Misha pointed up to an opened window. The glass that had once been held in the pane was gone. He turned to look at Jensen’s baffled expression. “What?”

The younger male shook his head, still gazing up at the window. “It doesn’t make sense.” Now it was Misha’s turn to deliver the curious look. “There would be no way that anyone could haul a body at a deadlift up there and through that window.” He turned to face his costar. “There has to be another way in. Either that or….” He trailed off, jaw clenching, not wanting to finish the thought. The response was a sympathetic expression.

Not allowing the train of thought to continue, Misha followed up with, “Look, all of the buildings are probably connected, anyway. If we can get up there—”

He did not have to finish. Jensen was already climbing up the rusting shaft to the gutter drain, trying to get to the top of the overhang. It creaked and bent as he ascended and, just as he reached the top, the rusted bolts began pulling away from the wall. “Shit!” Jensen’s voice caught in his throat as he had to perform an awkward side jump to reach the top of the overhang; only his upper body made it as the gutter fell, hitting the ground below with a clang. With a grunt, he managed to pull himself up onto it. He collapsed on it for a moment before pushing himself to all fours and turning to look over the edge down at Misha who went from staring at the fallen gutter up to him.

“Looks like I’ll have to find another way in,” he said as Jensen began leaning over the edge to look around the corner of the building.

He pointed to the end. “Is that a door?”

Misha turned to look and started nodding his head. “Yeah, but it’s locked from the inside.”

“All right.” Misha gazed back up as Jensen stood at a crouch to keep his balance. “I’ll see if I can unlock it; don’t disappear on me.” He headed to the window.

“Watch it in there.” Jensen nodded. After he climbed into the window, Misha yelled back, “And don’t do anything without me!”

The room that he had managed to get into appeared to be an old half-bath that was falling apart. The floor was peeling and the sink and urinals were covered in rust; pipes that ran up the wall and across the ceiling fared no better. It was obvious that teenagers had infiltrated the place on multiple occasions, whereas graffiti littered the cement walls. Jensen’s shoes crunched on broken glass from a busted mirror that had once been above the since as he made his way to the partially-opened door. The hallway was nearly black, the only light that came in was from a window at the other end, but the early morning light did not give much. Other than his footsteps, the silence inside was eerie, and every time he thought he heard something, it was either the creak of the building or he could not see what it was, because it was too dark.

The good note was that the window was bringing in enough light for him to make out the door to the stairwell on the opposite side of the wall; however, the stairwell was pitch black. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, remembering his phone. Opening up the screen, it emitted very little light, but, after accessing the flashlight application, the LED light flooded the stairwell. It was a narrow passage that he made his way down, the paint on the walls was peeling away and broken wood, glass and metal littered the base. At the bottom, the floor fared no better and the hallway outside was in worse shape than what he had been able to make out on the upper floor. He shined the flashlight on his phone around and saw doors, some with missing handles, others opened and others with rust eating away at the metal. He headed right and found a framed map on the wall near an apparent nurse’s station. A quick look over it showed an emergency exit around the corner at the end of the hall. Accessing the camera, he snapped a photo of it for reference before moving down the hall to the door.

Half-expecting it to be locked from both directions, his surprise came when he was able to push it open. Once outside, he jumped when Misha came around the corner.

“Well, that was simple enough,” the older male commented. Jensen nodded as Misha walked in, shutting the door behind him.

Pulling up the picture of the map he took on his phone, Misha leaned over his shoulder. “All right, if here’s the emergency exit, we should be—”

“There.” Misha pointed to the red marked area with his index finger.

“We need the stairwell. There were stairs in the video,” he answered to his costar’s expression.

“Is that them?” Misha pointed to the left corner. Zooming in, they could see the lines that marked a stairwell. “Think it goes to the basement?”

“They better. Aren’t all the basements connected in places like this?” Misha only shrugged. “Damn it. Come on.” With long strides, he moved down the hallway into the nurse’s station. Making a quick stop, he went behind the counter and began sifting through the drawers. When he opened the bottom cabinet, he came back up, tossing a flashlight to Misha, who turned it on to make sure it worked. Jensen grabbed a second one, doing the same, then came back around as they went to the marked stairwell. An elevator was next to the doors, the doors for the device were rusted and the button had long since been busted, its wiring protruding out. The door to the stairwell creaked when it was pushed open, making them glance to each other. One set going up and one going down, they descended, meeting another rusted door that had ‘PERSONNEL ONLY’ written on a sign. The door was locked, but, growing agitated, Jensen rammed his shoulder up against it, releasing an aggravated shout as he did it again, trying to force it open.

“Jen!” Misha reached to grab his shoulder, but Jensen did it again, slamming his full weight against the door. “Jensen, stop!” He grabbed Jensen’s forearm and the younger man spun around, his eyes red and swollen. Jensen fell against the door with his left hand barely slapping against it.

“I know he’s down there – I know it…,” he trailed out, voice shaking. “Goddamn it!” he shouted as he turned and kicked the door.

“Move,” Misha commanded as he pulled Jen away from the door. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small pocket knife and opened its barely-two-inch blade. Pressing the tip against the screw, he had to turn it slowly, but the screw turned with it. It took a few minutes to get that screw and the next, but when they were out and he gave the handle a tug, it popped right off, baring the inner mechanism. He slid his finger through the hole and pushed it to the side, unlatching the door and pushing it open. Jensen was staring at him with knitted eyebrows. “What? I was a teenager, too.”

Shining their flashlights, there were more stairs; only these were grated, rusting metal. Taking lead again, Jensen led the way down, cautious with each step as it creaked under their weight. Rust had eaten through the metal on several steps, so when they reached the bottom, there was an air of relief. Several feet down a cemented in hallway, there was a fork with a glass-encased map on the wall in front. Each hallway led underneath a different building, with side room down both. Jensen shined his light down both directions as Misha inspected the map. Pulling out his own phone, he did the same thing Jensen had done and snapped a photo of it for reference. Grabbing Jensen’s phone from his hand, he did the same and handed it back.

“You go left, I go right?” he asked, drawing Jensen’s attention.

The younger male contemplated it. “Isn’t separating the dumbest thing you can do in a horror movie?”

Misha shrugged. “Anything happens, police have already been called; though I don’t get what’s taking them so long,” he muttered the last bit. “Besides”—he held his phone up—“oddly enough, there’s service down here.” He put his phone into his pocket.

Jensen finally nodded, appearing as though he had to force himself to do so. “All right.” And, despite his brain telling him differently, he took a step backward. “Be careful. If it’s those fucking bastards—”

“Don’t worry. Good luck.”

A quick nod was all that was given before they both went separate directions.

Jensen’s heart pounded in his chest with apprehension as he made his way down the corridor, with the flashlight being the only source of light. He did his best to keep his hand steady as he flashed it from door-to-door; his nerves were shot. All of the doors had small, square windows, and he would make sure to flash the light into each of them, only to see empty hospital gurneys and old medical equipment. One room was wide open and, when he stepped inside, the thought that lobotomies and awry patient experiments used to be performed; which might have been why the hospital had been shut down.

His heart beat faster and harder in his chest at the thought.

There was no doubt in his mind that Jared was somewhere in the underground tunnels.

All of this old equipment crawling with disease.

And that was what they were using….

His skin crawled at the thought and his spine tingled.

A loud clang from somewhere down the hall pulled him out of the room, shining the flashlight back and forth. His feet began moving forward, though his brain was saying to stay away; getting to the source was his only motive. Falling into more of a jog with the light going from one door to the next, his attention focused on one very out-of-place. It was the only door that was not fully opened or fully shut; the door’s latch was set on the doorframe. Covering the flashlight with his hand, he peeked into the window.

The only thing he could see was a feint light somewhere towards the back.

Uncovering the light, he shined in around to make sure he was alone, then shut it completely off. Trying to open the door without it creaking or scraping on the floor, he opened it just enough to slip through, and then kept his hand on it as he slowly let it close. As he moved through the room, he had to go through clear plastic curtains that were enclosed around a typical-type room, complete with medical bed and restraints – most likely to hold patients that became violent. On a metal table by the bed were medical supplies, including scalpels, syringes with multiple tip choices and others that he had only seen on the set and did not know the name of.

When he heard the sound of movement, he kept his eyes focuses on the low light ahead through the curtains as he grabbed the scalpel, slipping it under the sleeve arm to his jacket. Slowly, with one foot in front of the other, he moved forward, nearly holding his breath. As he moved through the curtains on the other end, which caused a blurry haze around everything, the flashlight he had still been holding hit the floor and his legs felt numb.

He had to find his footing and force himself to move.

His eyes and hands shook when he approached the table, darting around the figure of his costar.

The upside down Y-shaped scar from part of his liver being removed, only sewn up with thick, black thread; and another scar that ran across his left side, also stitched with thick, black thread.

Dried and still-drying blood was caked around the more recent incision.

With hands trembling, he brought his right hand up to hover over Jared’s face, eyes burning as he grabbed the blood-soaked rag that was still shoved in his mouth to take it out. Now setting his hand on the side of Jared’s face, he leaned down. Jared’s eyes were staring straight ahead, completely blank – unblinking. “Jare?” His voice came out in a shaken whisper as he staring into the other’s eyes. “Hey, buddy, it’s me.” He cocked his head, making sure he knew he was the only thing in front of the other’s gaze. A stray drop fell down his face. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?” He ran his fingers through the other’s knotted hair, trying to get a response: a twitch, a nod, a blink – _something_.

He looked around, making the note of Jared’s chest moving up and down.

A step behind him and he pulled up, spinning around to see a dangerously familiar face.


	4. Too Close - Can't Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the week of Valentine's Day, the cast takes a break after filming the first half of Supernatural.
> 
> Like every year, fan-letters come flooding in for the stars of the show. One in particular that was sent to Jensen gains attention when a video is included with a small box. A letter asks that the video be watched before the box is opened.
> 
> The one filming says how their favourite movie is My Bloody Valentine and that they are a huge fan of Jensen. The break of relaxation quickly turns to a real-life horror film as the person shows Jared, locked and bound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-by-one, they hit the ground~♪

**4: Too Close – Can’t Tell**

Jensen’s hand subconsciously gripped around the scalpel he still had hidden in his sleeve as his eyes watched the familiar form of the one referred to as G walk around one of the tables in the room – his expression oddly calm. The actor’s heart pounded in his chest, his eyes not trailing from the man he had only seen through a screen. The man kept his fingers tracing the table that separated them, looking at the items placed on it and grabbed a small cube-like object, focusing on it as he finally spoke.

“See, I knew we should have cut the bastard’s tongue out.” He sent an off smirk as he glanced up at Jensen, whose jaw was firmly clenched. A tremble ran through him, his voice stuck in his throat as G walked around the table and he continued to play with the object. He glanced over his shoulder, as though expecting someone to walk in, and then exhaled a chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re smarter than I thought, so doubt you came by yourself.” He locked eyes with Jensen’s, who was still unable to move, body shaking. “I’ll never understand why,” he muttered.

At that moment, G threw the object he had been holding at Jensen’s head, who immediately darted off to the side, leaving the object to crash against the wall on the other end of the table. Taking advantage of the moment, G lunged and tackled Jensen to the ground, making his head hit against the metal leg to the operating table and leaving the scalpel the actor had been holding to fall out of his sleeve and clink to the cement floor. White light flashed in front of his eyes, stunned as he tried to recover. He could feel movement move across him and he blinked and shook his head, sight recovering just in time to see the scalpel he had been holding move towards him. He jerked back, getting sliced across the face as he rolled to the side.

“Get off me!” he shouted, kicking G in the chest as he lunged forward again. He scrambled to get to his feet and grabbed the table to pull himself up. Still disoriented, his hands scattered some of the items on the operating tray and he grabbed whatever his fingers could clasp. What felt like scissors were in his hand and he jerked back around to make a slashing motion towards G, who was trying to do the same with the scalpel. G dodged both attempts and was able to grab Jensen around the jaw and neck with one arm as the other was trying to press the scalpel to his face. With an odd grunt-like shout, Jensen brought up the scissors and jammed them, point-down into G’s upper shoulder.

The man released a yell and let go of Jensen to fight with getting the scissors out of his skin. As he fought with that, Jensen’s focus turned to Jared and his hands, shaking violently, worked with the straps his ally’s wrists were bound with. He was only able to get one free and he heard G stumble into the table. Just as he turned so as not to keep his back to the offender, a sickening crack shot through his arm as he brought it up to block a metal pole that G had somehow acquired.

An estranged cry left his throat as he felt the bone snap.

Instinct had him curl to the side and cradle his arm, face twisted in pain, but the fear of having that same object slam against his skull had enough adrenaline run through him to duck down and shoulder the other in the chest, having them fall back against the metal table. He shifted away from the small space between the two tables, eyes stinging as pain shot through his arm and shoulder.

A sudden pain in his back had him fall forward, crashing through the plastic curtains that led to the room he had come through. He groaned and turned onto his side, gasping from the pain radiating all down his spine where he had been hit. He saw the shadowed figure of G standing over him, the light to his back, making him unable to see his face. His heart pounded viciously in his chest: he was going to die.

As he saw G lift the pole up, Jensen tried one last time and aimed a kick to the guy’s knees, but G sidestepped, his arm coming down.

“NO!”

A strangely familiar voice shot through the room following a loud bang that sounded like a metal door swinging open and hitting a wall. Jensen rolled off to the side just as L.F dived at G, tackling him to the ground, where he began bashing his hand holding the rusted pole against the floor.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” G shouted back between the clangs of metal.

L.F managed to get the pipe away from him and used it against him. He pulled it up before bringing it down against G’s head. “Don’t you fucking hurt him!”

Jensen released another groan as he practically crawled away from the two and tried to get to his feet. Regaining at least some of his senses, he stumbled back towards the table that Jared was strapped to, his unbroken arm fumbling with the straps around his costar’s ankles. Still listening to the quarreling duo on the ground, he moved as quickly as he could to unbind the other, still calling out Jared’s name to get some response.

His attention jerked towards the same direction as footsteps flooded the room, followed by a loud voice: “Sir, put the weapon down!”

Jensen’s eyes squinted in the direction of a set of flashlights, all which were focused on L.F and G, though the latter was incapacitated.  L.F seemed to be frantic by this point, black hair awry and eyes wild. His gaze shot from the officials in the room to the bloodied mess of his ally beneath him. As though realizing what he had done, he dropped the pipe, which clanged on the floor, and stared back up as two of the officials moved in to pull him off.

“You don’t understand,” L.F said as he was shoved to the ground and handcuffed. “He was going to hurt him – I had to stop him.” His voice was oddly calm, sounding like he could not understand what he did wrong. As he was pulled to his feet, one of the officials checked on G, whose head was battered and face nearly unrecognizable. As he was pulled to his feet, one of the officials, who appeared to be an EMS personnel, crossed into the room with two others. As one, a young female, grabbed Jensen to pull him off to the side to allow her coworkers to tend to Jared and the unconscious offender on the ground, he jerked to stay back, but was too caught up in the commotion and let her pull him off. At that same time, Misha broke through the group of officials, eyes wide at the scene he witnessed.

He ran over to Jensen, calling his name, but stopped short when his eyes landed on their bound costar.

“Jensen!” L.F shouted when he saw the actor as he was jerked to a stand by the officers around him; his face was lit up, wild excitement blanketing his face as he tried to pull away from the grips of the police officers. “I did this for you, Jensen! It was all for you!” His body jerked, but the hold the officials had on him did not falter – Jensen could only stare at him in disgusted shock, not even aware of the medic trying to bind his arm with a makeshift splint. “Please! I love you! Can’t you see that?!”

“Can you get him to shut up?” one of the investigators said as L.F was forced out of the room, his voice disappearing.

Jensen’s attention went back to the EMS personnel removing the rest of the constraints from Jared’s extremities. Taking the lapse in the personnel’s restraint of him, Jensen ducked away to move to Jared; the official tried to call him back. The EMS were too concerned with trying to shift Jared’s body without causing more pain and damage, so they gave no heed to the other standing next to him with his hand on Jared’s forehead. Jared’s eyes were still distant, blankly staring at Jensen, who was trying to force a reassuring smile though his bloodshot eyes and creasing brow line. He caught movement as G was moved out of the room and his ears tuned in and out of what the personnel were saying about Jared’s condition. He caught the words “infections,” “rectal trauma,” and “shock.”

“Sir, please step back,” one of them spoke as they nearly pushed Jensen out of the way.

He could only watch as they tried to move him onto a stretcher and, once he was on it, cover him with a sheet, leaving only his shoulders and head visible. The woman Jensen had gotten away from was now next to him, telling him that he needed to be taken to the hospital. He did not refuse and followed her out of the room, going back into the underground passageway with Misha not far behind.

* * *

Voices flooded the hallway of the hospital, blending together and turning into nonsense chatter. An occasional beep would be followed by nurses rushing to a room, once in a while calling for a crash cart. With his face patched up and broken arm in a cast and sling, Jensen had gone from sitting in the bed he had been given within the hospital to sitting on the benched windowsill across the hall from the glassed-in room Jared was being held in. His coworker had already been in and out of surgery, trying to repair the damage that had been done. They were able to reinsert his kidney, but only because it had not been out that long and they got it into ice almost immediately upon finding it. The trauma performed to his rectum was more difficult, but they were able patch him up and now he had something or other (Jensen did not know the name of it) being used to keep it from getting infected.

Currently, Misha was down at the police station giving a witness statement and they had L.F, who they discovered his real name to be Lance Fullen, in custody and G (better known as Gregory Harlett) in lockdown in a guarded room somewhere in the hospital. It made Jensen physically ill to know that bastard was even in the same building as them, but his concern for Jared overrode all of that. Eight hours after Jared was out of surgery, he finally came-to and, at first, had no idea what was going on or what had happened. The doctors suspected amnesia due to the psychiatric trauma and his brain was trying to protect the well-being of the body, but, shortly after, he began panicking and wound up having a seizure.

He recovered, but was then on sedation.

The only reason Jensen was still being held was because when G – Gregroy – hit him in the back with the pipe, it cracked his vertebrae. There was nothing they could do, other than keeping packs on it to ease the pain (though the medication they had him on took care of that). Well, there was the fact that he had a concussion from hitting his head and they were monitoring his condition, but he chose to ignore that; though it was difficult to ignore the constant ringing in his ears and the nausea.

Jensen stared blankly into the room, his mind drifting with his good arm set on his knee and hand holding his chin. One thing he could not understand was how two people were able to cause so much damage in less than twenty-four hours – hell, it had hardly even been twelve. And over and over, he was kicking himself for not accompanying Jared to the airport. He had thought that, maybe if he had, it either would not have happened, or only he, Jensen, would have been the one abducted and, since it was obvious that L.F would not have harmed him….

The thoughts were overwhelming and he wiped a stray drop that fell down his face.

He inhaled and sat back when a familiar face was seen walking down the hallway with a coffee cup in each hand; their heels clicked on the tile. He gave a forced smile and accepted the plastic cup as Danneel sat down next to him, crossing her left leg over her right as she peered into the room across the hall. She exhaled and turned to look at her husband, who was staring down at the steam billowing up from the cup. When he continued to just stare at it for a few minutes, Danneel sat back, leaning against the window, drawing Jensen’s eyes.

“He’ll recover, you know.”

When she just saw him nod, she held her own cup with both hands, looking back into the room.

“I hope so.” Back to facing the coffee. For the next moment, they just listened to the people around them – Danneel with her gaze staring into Jared’s room and Jensen avoiding doing that same thing by seeming strangely interested in his drink. He was thankful for his wife coming up, taking time off from filming to stay with him, but, at the same time, he just wanted to be left alone. That and, for some reason, he found himself growing upset with Genevieve for not coming up to be with her own husband – then he kicked himself for realizing she did not even know.

How could she? She was on a plane when everything went down and the shooting location her and the rest of the film crew were in was hit by some electrical storm, knocking out communication (the news had been reporting similar stories in all different parts of the country).

Quite a nasty shock for her when she would find out.

“I don’t—” Danneel turned her head to look at him when he spoke, but he cut himself off before changing the sentence to: “He didn’t deserve this,” he said, half-whispering, as though he was merely thinking aloud. “I mean…how the hell does this crap even happen?” He inhaled and stared up, passed the room and towards the ceiling, eyes shining as he tried to keep himself composed. “He’s a – a goddamn six-foot-four, two-hundred and thirty pound man. How the fucking hell do two guys – one that can’t weigh more than one-fifty – abduct a fucking bus and no one notices?” He was now looking at her, his composure failed as drops streaked his face. “And it’s not like he doesn’t know how to fight! Why didn’t he just beat the shit out of them?” Anger flooded his tone, though the remorse was painfully obvious. Seeing the expression his wife was giving him, he jerked his attention away from her and back towards the room, though he was not too bent on staring there, either. “He’s not a fighter – I get it! I do! But all he had to do was – goddamn it! Why the fuck is he such a goddamn pussy?!”

Danneel, setting her cup down, brought her arms up around him, allowing him to set his head against her shoulder and chest as he broke down.

It was the first time he vented, everything coming out in one mass flood.

“Why wasn’t I there, Danny?” She just rubbed his back, not answering the rhetorical question.

It was a little while before Jensen was able to calm down, and he became quiet shortly after, locking himself in and shutting everyone else out. Danneel had taken him back to his room, but he was not bent on staying there long. When she left later on that evening, after he convinced her that he would be fine and she should go back to the hotel and rest, he left his room to walk the halls of the hospital, nodding whenever he passed by a nurse. As it grew into the night, patients (including himself) were confined to their rooms, which only had him grow bored and aggravated. He was not even able to turn on the television to get his mind off of everything: the constant switching scenes made him feel dizzy and, when the nurse had turned it on for him early that day, he wound up vomiting.

By now, the media had caught wind of what had happened, though not the full story, and just reported that the “stars of _Supernatural_ were currently being hospitalized after a vicious attack by obsessed fans” – as they had been quoted. The downplay had him somewhat relieved. There was no reason for the public to be made aware. It was not something they needed to deal with on top of everything else.

When the only thing he had entertaining him was the clicking of the clock on the far wall, he sat up and threw the sheets off of him, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. With his elbows on his knees, he ran his hands through his hair and shut his eyes, allowing the feeling of vertigo to pass. He looked up as his hands set on the back of his neck, making a quick glance to the clock. Eleven at night and the halls outside were at an eerie quiet. Scenario after scenario ran through his head, not only of what could have happened, but what might happen, now. Jared could wake up, have another panic attack and send him into a coma. The scenario was all too real and it had Jensen’s pulse quicken. Making the decision, he got off the bed and opened the glossed-wooden door to look out into the halls. There was a nurse walking down with a cart holding medical supplies and he watched her pass; she sent him a smile and nod as she did. Moving out into the hall, he left the door slightly open as he went the opposite direction, towards the ICU Recovery Ward. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, knowing that he would be taken back to his room if he were caught being up after hours.

The stairwell dropped him off on the first floor near a nurse’s station, which he made sure to avoid as he went around it. The fountain in the lobby was still running, white LED lights shining underneath the water, flooding it with the sound of calm water around all of the decorative plant life. The security guard was talking with the woman and man running the front desk, which made for a great distraction as he slipped by them to duck into the hall leading to the Emergency Room. He could hear voices come over an intercom as he got closer, but veered off to the recovery ward, which was deathly quiet. Even in that ward, the nurses were talking amongst themselves, not paying any attention to their surroundings – and probably only would if an alarm went off or a patient required their medications – making it easy for him to pass them and go towards the room Jared was being kept in.

All of the blinds were shut, so, once he went in, he did not have to worry about being seen.

For a moment, he just stared at his costar’s unconscious form; his badly beaten face and bruised wrists were the only things visible, his arms being on top of the sheets covering the rest of his body. Inhaling, he walked around to the edge of the bed, rooting himself in the chair and scooting it as close as he could get. Trying not to have a reoccurrence of earlier, he took another deep inhale and wiped his face before setting his good hand on Jared’s left hand and wrist. Leaning down, he laid his forehead on the backs of his hand, feeling Jared’s pulse. It would have been so much easier to handle.

He set his hand on the side of Jared’s head, pushing his hair back.

“Hey, there, Sasquatch.” His voice was hardly above a whisper, a slight rattle to his vocals. “You missed Danny, earlier. She came to see how you’re doing.” He forced an odd smile to his face, shaking his head as an awkward laugh come out of his throat. “I’ve been trying to talk to you and…I know it’s probably pointless, but I – I want you to know I’m sorry.” Water slipped from his ducts and he ran his hand down his face before returning it to where it sat on Jared’s head. Another strange and airy laugh. “I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for, you know? I’m sorry this happened? I’m sorry I didn’t go with you? I’m just…I’m sorry.” He exhaled and shook his head. “So fucking sorry.”

Taking his hand back, he wiped his face one more time, set his arm on the edge of the bed and laid his head on it, eyes half open as he continued to hold Jared’s hand and listen to the sound of the nasal cannula and the IV drip. He stopped worrying if someone walked in, whether to just check on Jared’s status or refill the drip; he just wanted to stay with him. And as the thought of one of the freaks being in the hospital with them crossed his mind, his grip on Jared’s hand tightened and made his will to stay that much more.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if this is worth continuing to upload! (*^ v ^*)


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